James Patterson - Honeymoon

But it did have to come to this.

He was writhing and choking on his own vomit. Then he tried to stand but couldn’t make it to his feet. The initial drug wasn’t going to kill him, just set the table. But now she worried she’d used too much.

She told herself to say something, to act concerned. She was supposed to be the innocent bystander who didn’t know what was happening. Her panic had to seem real to him. “Let me get you something. Let me help.”

She hurried to the sink and filled a glass with water. From a vial in her pocket, she poured in the powder. Tiny bubbles shot to the surface, like champagne. Nora turned from the sink—and he was gone.

Where’d he go?

He couldn’t have gotten very far. She took two steps and heard the slam of the door down the hall, the lock turning. He’d made it to the bathroom.

Nora ran down the hall, glass in hand. “Honey, are you okay?” she called. “Craig?”

She could hear him retching, poor guy. As horrible as it sounded, it was a good sign. He was ready for the bubbly. Now if she could just get him to open the door.

She knocked gently. “Honey, I have something for you. It will make you feel better. I know you don’t think so, but it will.”

When he didn’t answer, she called out again. When that didn’t work, she pounded on the door.

“Please, you’ve got to trust me.”

Finally, in between heaves, he yelled back, “Yeah, right!”

“Seriously, Craig, let me help you,” she said. “All you have to do is drink this. The pain will disappear.”

“Not a fucking chance!”

Nora fumed. So, that’s how you want to play it, huh? So be it.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Are you sure you don’t want to open the door… O’Hara? ”

She listened to the silence that followed, imagining his complete surprise. Oh, how she wished she could have seen the look on his face.

She taunted him from her side of the door. “That is your real name, isn’t it? John O’Hara? ”

That ended his silence. “Yes,” he hollered back in anger. “As in Agent John O’Hara with the FBI.”

Nora’s eyes went wide, her suspicions realized. Of all things, however, she started to laugh. “Really? I’m impressed. See, I said you were cut out for something better than insurance! I think—”

He cut her off, his voice gaining strength. “It’s over, Nora. I know too much—and I’m going to live to tell about it. You killed Connor for his money, just like your first husband.”

“You’re a liar!” she screamed.

“You’re the liar, Nora. Or is it Olivia? Either way, kiss all your money in the Caymans good-bye. But don’t worry—where you’re going, the room and board are free.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you asshole! But you are!”

“We’ll see about that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a call to make.”

Nora listened to the three high-pitched tones coming from inside the bathroom. He was calling 911.

Again she started to laugh. “You idiot. We’re in the middle of nowhere—there’s no cell phone service out here!”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “That’s what you think, honey. ”

Chapter 98

I WAS SPRAWLED on the bathroom floor, covered in blood and vomit and some other fluids from my body that were clearly never supposed to see the light of day.

But suddenly I was happy as a pig in shit.

It didn’t matter that I was still aching up and down, inside and out. I was alive.

And on the phone.

“Nine-one-one emergency…”

The satellites had hooked me up. Help would be on the way in minutes. All I had to do was tell them where the hell I was.

I spoke to the female operator. “My name is Agent John O’Hara with the FBI and I’m—”

Being shot at!

I heard the gun blast and watched wood splinter off the bathroom door. A bullet whizzed by my ear and shattered the tile on the wall behind me. It happened in an instant, but it felt like slow-motion.

Until the second shot came. The only thing that one felt like was agony. I’d been lucky on the first. Not so, the next. The shot tagged me in the shoulder, ripping straight through and out. My eyes went to the hole in my shirt as blood began to spurt.

Fuck me, I’m hit.

The phone dropped from my hand, and for a split second I froze. Were it for a full second I would’ve been dead.

Instead, instinct took over. I rolled to my left, away from the door, out of the line of fire.

Nora’s third shot exploded through the door and took apart the tile on the wall where I’d been a second before. It would’ve caught me smack in the chest.

“How do you like that, O’Hara?!” she yelled. “That’s my insurance policy!”

I said nothing. To talk was to invite another bullet. I waited for Nora to say something more, but she said nothing.

The only sound was the muffled, tinlike voice of the 911 operator coming through my phone lying on the floor.

“Sir? Are you there? What’s happening?”

Or something to that effect. I couldn’t tell for sure. I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered at that moment wasn’t the phone.

Slowly I pulled in my left leg and raised the cuff on my pants. I hadn’t packed a toothbrush for the night, but I was packing something else.

I undid the holster and removed the Beretta 9 mm. If Nora had thoughts of storming in, I’d be ready for her.

I gripped the gun in both hands and waited.

Where are you, Nora—love of my life?

Chapter 99

EVERYTHING WAS SILENT in the cabin, including my phone. Nine-one-one had my name, and though I hadn’t given my location, the satellites would. Assuming the operator did the right thing. She alerts her supervisor, supervisor alerts the Bureau, Bureau gets the coordinates pulsing from my GPS-equipped phone, and the closest police unit is dispatched. Sounds so simple.

I just had to make sure I was still breathing when they got here.

It raised the question Why didn’t I fire back at Nora?

I knew why. I just didn’t know what to do with the answer.

I tried to get up off the bathroom floor without making any noise. The excruciating pain in my shoulder didn’t exactly cooperate. I tiptoed to the door and slumped against the wall. One hand held the gun; the other reached for the lock on the knob. I turned it slowly.

I took a deep breath and blinked several times. I didn’t know if Nora was still on the other side of the door, but I had to find out. My one advantage—the door opened away from me, toward the hallway.

Three.

Two.

One.

With everything I had left, I shouldered the door. It flew open.

I barreled out, low and tight to the ground. Gun drawn. I swung my arms left and right, looking for any movement. I lined up a lamp. Then I nearly took out my own reflection in a mirror down the hall.

No Nora.

I stepped sideways down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. “You’re not the only one with a gun,” I called out. “I don’t want to kill you.”

Nothing from her.

I came to the living-room doorway. Gave it a fast peek-a-boo look.

No movement. No Nora.

The kitchen was a few steps away. I could hear something. A creaking. Footsteps. She was there, waiting for me.

I opened my mouth to say something. But I didn’t speak a word. The dizziness hit me so fast. I reached for the wall, tried to steady myself. My knees were rubber.

I could still hear the creaking. Was she coming? I raised my arm and pointed the gun. The barrel was shaking. More creaking. It was getting louder.